Maybe, Possibly, Truly
by frickangel
Summary: To be afraid of something yet find comfort in arms of the one you love. Greg faces a tough moment in his life and surprises himself by discovering who he really needed. GregSara.
1. Maybe

**Title**: Maybe, Possibly- Truly

**Author**: frickangel

**Site**: trinity (dot) hybridshadows (dot) com

**Summary:** To be afraid of something yet find comfort in arms of the one you love. –Oh, gawd, I'm actually writing Sara/Greg fluff. Someone please shoot me.

**Spoilers:** Other than the fact that Greg becomes a full fledge CSI?

**A/N:** Just a short fic. Wanted to hurt Greg and love him at the same time ;)

**Disclaimer:** Don't own CSI and all its characters, whoever owns them, owns them. But it's not me- though I wish.

**Chapter I**

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How long has it been?

He couldn't remember.

Maybe it was the smell of antiseptic in the air, which causes temporary memory loss. Maybe it was the crying he heard from the other end from a bereaving family. Maybe it was the people all dressed in white, green and some pink. Maybe it was the constant paging for someone over the intercom. Maybe…

Maybe because he was just so scared.

Why was he scared?

Because he was afraid to die.

But why?

Now, that, he knew.

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"Seriously, Grissom, why me?"

"Because you're just the man for the job, Greg?"

"What about Sara!" He was getting desperate. No way in heaven or in hell was he going to go through this.

"Hey!" Sara whipped up from her crouch so fast; he thought she'd be feeling dizzy in an instant. He could run over and rescue her before she fell. Then, he'll have an excuse not to do this. Unfortunately, for Greg, that didn't happen. "Grissom sends you to do the job, you do it."

"But... but…" he was trying to stammer out some other possible excuse. Short of saying that the sky was blue and the grass was green, Greg was going to give in to Grissom's orders. "Fine."

Grissom nodded. "A man must venture to darkest depths of the ocean to know how deep his courage may lie."

"What was that, some quote from William Blake? Poe? Shakespeare?"

"No."

He was afraid to ask, he just knew Grissom was out to get him. "What?"

"I made that up myself."

And there's the snap, another straight punch of Grissom's wit into the gut of Greg. So excellently executed that the crowd roars with shrieks of delight.

Actually, all Greg heard was Sara snorting and stifling laughs behind her note board. She was trying to hide it by writing down her notes, though she wasn't doing a very good job in the concealing part.

"Oh."

"Better get to work, Greg. It's late and that's a lot of garbage to go through." Grissom just had to point towards the mountain of trash lying right behind. The mountain of trash which he was about to shovel through because his boss told him so and the mountain of trash which Sara refuses to do. "If the weapon is there, I want it."

"Depends of what kind of weapon." Greg turned around to face Grissom, not wanting to look at the rubbish any longer than he had to. "Weapons of mass smelling destruction?"

He paused to muse upon Greg's retort. "Have fun."

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Why didn't he remind her?

Instead, he avoided her like the plague the past few days. Wouldn't answer his calls, his messages, or even the door when she was at his doorstep.

In the end, she did remember. Because how could she forget?

Today was the day they all would find out the answer. A single word to determine his future, his life, and his fate.

She had left as soon as she could, unable to focus on work all night and the sun was shinning when she took off in her car. At first, the sunrays gave her hope that it was an omen- something that said all was well and there was nothing to fear. Then the white cotton clouds had become grey and dull, turning into swirling mists of uncertainty that blocked the sun and shunned hope.

_Stop looking_, she told herself. Tearing away from the sky's threat of a thunderstorm, she focused on starting the engine and more importantly, being there for him.

It was good thing she didn't believe in omens and signs.

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The way he was whining and complaining was getting on her nerves. In fact, coming from anyone else would be downright annoying but from him, it was almost funny.

'Almost' being the keyword.

"I thought Grissom told you to dig through garbage, not moan and bewail at it." Sara focused through the lens and finally took another shot of the blood splatter. Little sunlight spots danced in her eyes as the strong flash dissipated away.

"I am digging." Greg threw something aside that Sara didn't feel like knowing what it was. "I'm digging in my own bewailing way."

"Anything yet?"

"Not unless you were looking for three soggy slippers, two tonnes of over-ripe takeout pizza-."

"And a partridge in a pear tree." She sing-songed the end of his sentence even though Sara figured that wasn't what he was going to say. Looking up long enough to meet with Greg's glare, she shrugged her shoulders as if to say she couldn't help it.

"Err… right… You know, you could help me."

Was that a plea for help? Sara thought it was, "Sorry." She shuffled to her left a little, catching another spot of blood into permanent photographic media. "Kinda busy over here." Whatever he had grumbled in response, she had conveniently ignored. Greg could use some 'dirty work' once in a while, his been spoilt by his lab comforts.

Actually, she had been procrastinating on the photo taking, the lab didn't need that many and there was enough in the camera to go on. But hey, so long as she didn't need to join Greg in the mini dumpsite, she was glad to sit by and look busy.

Okay, so maybe she'll help him.

He was shuffling and wrestling with another empty carton big enough to hold a 32-inch TV.

Right, she'll help him once his been through one quarter of the trash.

"Argh!" Greg yelled in futile objection then fell butt first on the wet ground.

Make that half of the garbage.

Until then, she'd rather hug on to the camera.

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How long did he have to wait?

No one knew.

He had already waited a whole three months before they allowed him to take the test.

All they could do was murmur bits of cryptic messages to him, giving themselves an excuse to torture him longer.

It was something about the system going offline or the results were somewhere else. He couldn't catch what they apologised about in their voices filled with pretentious pity. The whole sketch of niceness was probably trained into them.

Feel sorry for the dying ones and comfort those in the balance.

Liars.

Everything right then was about 'Just a little while longer'. No one had anything else to inform him with so they fed him the same lie.

Pretentious liars, that's what they were.

His hands felt icy-cold from the air-conditioning that worsened with his apprehensiveness.

The liars were always busy with something. Turning through files, arranging the phone calls and playing the gamble with death. He himself felt death had chosen him to be tonight's dance partner; hopefully, this tango wouldn't end on a flat note.

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He just knew that everyone was laughing at him. The cop, who was there to "protect" them, Sara was and even the stray cats had parked themselves on the wall just to watch the almighty Greg Sanders shift through trash filled with yesterday's Japanese dinner and stinky diapers.

And to think he left a nice sanitised lab for crummy field jobs like these.

Greg hoped it was under the blanket, stained with something he didn't want to know what, but no, there was nothing. A box overturned looked like a good place a knife would be stashed, yet there was nothing but a headless Barbie doll. "And I thought Sara was sadistic…"

"Did you just call out my name?"

"Now why would I do that? Wouldn't want to disturb you over there taking shots of the relatively clean road while I'm wading in three inches of…" He groaned.

"What?"

"Crap. And I mean literally." The last thing he wanted was to look at Sara, right then he much rather looked at his foot. Thank god for standard issue boots.

"You. Are. Not. Going. Back. In. The. Same. Car. As. Me."

"It's always nice when a colleague is that concerned for me." He had shouted into the air, scaring a few tabby cats off and earning a weird stare from the LEOs'.

Another sudden burst of flash light signalled that Sara was back to her work and Greg should be concentrating on his.

"Move."

Greg stood in mid motion of opening the suspicious looking juice carton. "What are you doing?"

"I can't stand you whining and complaining any longer." She was already slapping on the same protective boots and donning the thick gloves.

"Thanks?"

"Good boy." She went into ankle deep of trash without so much as a wince. Well that is until she decided to breathe. "You take that side and I-."

"I- what?" Greg was desperately trying to keep his balance while cleaning the boot on a cardboard. No way was he going to trample around with that muck stuck to him. Glancing over he noticed Sara had removed her gloves to dig out the cell phone in her vest. She raised a finger to him signalling that she was going to take a few minutes. Somewhat unfair, she barely gets herself dirty in garbage and she's been saved by her ring tone.

"Sidle." Sara's voice rang clear over the phone as the green light illuminated her features. Slowly her voice trailed off softer while she moved further from Greg, obviously to get some fresh air. If Greg were lucky, maybe he'd pass out from the fumes and never have to work the site.

Then, of course, the entire lab would be laughing at him for being such a baby. Hodges will appoint himself as the regular alarm clock, never to let Greg forget. Over on the other corner, he noticed one of the cops had disappeared, probably to get coffee, while his partner leaned casually against the car. Not like there was going to be gunfire exchange. The only threat now was from the tabby cats in the alley attacking him for smelling like rotten food.

Digging deeper, Greg was pulling out something long. A piece of cloth… no, it was part of a green trench coat.

He froze.

Wait.

Trench coats don't grab your arm back.

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.----TBC ----  
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Thanks for reading.

Cheers  
Jo


	2. Possibly

**Title**: Maybe, Possibly- Truly

**Author**: frickangel

**Site**: trinity (dot) hybridshadows (dot) com

**Summary:** To be afraid of something yet find comfort in arms of the one you love. Greg faces a tough moment in his life and surprises himself by discovering who he really needed.GregSara.

**Spoilers:** Other than the fact that Greg becomes a full fledge CSI? Heh, but you already knew that :)

**A/N:** Just a short fic. Wanted to hurt Greg and love him at the same time ;)

**Disclaimer:** Don't own CSI and all its characters, whoever owns them, owns them. But it's not me- though I wish.

**Chapter II**

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Where was he?

It had taken a while for her to find a legal spot to park. Hospitals were an everyday thing in her life.

Wake up, go to work, collect case, work crime scene, visit doctor, collect medical report, and solve case.

So maybe it wasn't as straight forward as that, but hospital visits for her were usually just to obtain some report on the deceased or nearly dying.

Today was much different.

For today, she was searching for one who shouldn't be dying. He shouldn't even be here.

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"We're working on it." Sara informed him. Well at least Greg was, she had _attempted_ to help him. Sort of.

_'Just wanted to know if you guys need any help.'_

"Thanks, but we're doing fine, Nick." She noted only one of the officers remained at the scene and Sara wondered if it was against procedure to leave the scene, even if it was for a potty break. "Going slow on swing shift?"

_'Yeah, nothing much going on. Just a couple of small time robberies. The thieves left enough of them behind that they might as well have a neon sign tied to their backs with the words "I Did It".'_

The phone crackled softly, really bad reception going on. "Not unless you want to swim in trash you're welcome to drop by."

There was a pause on Nick's side and she couldn't help but break a smile.

_'I'll let you know when I'm actually bored enough.'_

And she sarcastically wondered why he would say something like that. "Fine, I'll-."

Where had the other one gone? No one was at the patrol car and Sara had a sinking feeling something was terribly wrong. They would never leave them alone at a crime scene, not after the Holly incident.

_'Sara, you still there?'_

The call.

Sara had forgotten Nick was on the line. "Hey, Nick? I'm gonna have to call you back."

_'Yeah, save Greg from the trash monster for me, ok?'_

There was no reply from her but she did was snap her phone shut, ending the conversation. From where she stood, Sara couldn't see anything of the dumpster; it was basically the reason why she hid here for the call- to avoid looking at it. But now, she wished she had kept her eye on Greg.

The whole scene gave her a sick feeling down to her stomach. The sole officer was in a half crouch, his sidearm drawn and ready to shoot. Just a few feet away, Greg stood in total fear, his gloved hands up in air, showing he hid no weapon.

Greg was in the line of fire.

No, the officer wasn't trying to put a bullet through Greg. It was the strange man that held Greg who was the target.

Her mind whirled, the stranger wasn't armed, nor did he seem dangerous. He was just an old homeless man who held a rose colour stained glass in his hand. Only when her mind had stopped whirling and things fell into place did Sara figure things out.

The glass the old man held wasn't stained with rose colour- it was blood.

Greg didn't seemed hurt, she couldn't find his wound he just looked terrified, as Sara was terrified herself.

It finally dawned upon her that the blood wasn't Greg's; it was the old man's. The arm that gripped the makeshift weapon was dripping with red liquid coming from his own grasp on the crude piece. And it was the same arm that held the same broken glass to Greg's throat.

"Greg?" Sara didn't even know she had called out his name but she had.

"Sir, lower the weapon." Officer Robins ordered.

Yes, that was it. His name was Robins. Sara found it amusing that she should remember his name only at the face of adversity. Silly, Sara.

"Why yea all come to mah home?" His hold on the glass was still menacing.

Couldn't she do anything to help? Sara's hand flew to her own gun, but she left it there and not daring to bring it up in case the man were to panic at another firearm. She couldn't risk it at the expense of Greg's life. Not here, not now, not ever.

"We're just doing our job," Greg spoke out, trying to reason with the mad man. "There was an attack on a woman a few hours ago and we were looking for a weapon. No one is-."

"I din no hurt no one! I isn't a murderer!"

"We know!" for some reason, Sara held her hands up as well. "Just let him go and-."

"Be is quiet!" his voice boomed, sounding more authoritive than Robins had. "I needs to think." Without a free hand to wipe his face, the lunatic used the sleeve of his trench coat to remove the sweat. "I needs to think, to think…"

_'Save Greg from the trash monster for me, ok?'_

That's what Nick said. Maybe he knew something she didn't.

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What was she doing here?

It didn't matter; she was possibly here to pity him. Possibly here to sympathise. Right now, he was possibly the most pathetic person in the world to have thought like that.

"Greg?"

Should he answer her? If he should, he had no idea what he needed say. It's not like this was some regular social visit and if anything he felt like he wanted to be alone.

"Why didn't you tell me you were here? I wanted to be with you for this."

Still no reply from him, his mind was still deciding on the possible answers. Forget about answering her, he couldn't even decide on how he should be feeling.

Was it anger? Relief?

He didn't know.

"Greg, please don't ignore me." Her body felt warm beside him as she sat herself on the next-door chair.

The warmth felt good to his cold fear.

"Please, say something." She pleaded.

It wasn't pity in her voice, nor was it the sympathy he had expected. She was concern for him and it was something that took him by complete surprise.

Right there and then, he knew what he wanted. It was such a simple request.

He wished for someone to stay with him.

And once he knew what it was, the words came out easier. At least one word had been easy for him.

"Sara…"

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This day was going bad. Actually, it wasn't just bad it downright sucked. Being taken hostage by a raving maniac was the icing on the cake!

Someone please shoot one of us.

Calm down, Greg, you can get through this. No point in panicking…

Yet.

This couldn't be happening, and all he did was dig through garbage!

"Why you all come here to poor Tom's home?"

The fact that the madman had referred to himself in third person was definitely not comforting.

"Is that your name, Tom?" Greg offered his whisper back to Tom. "Mine's Greg."

Whatever good sense that existed in this world had been void in Tom's face; there was no recognition of familiarity on his face.

"Ok, since I know your name and you know mine, we're friends right?" Greg was grasping in the dark trying to find a way out of this mess. This better work. "Friends don't do this to other friends- let me go?" He had kept the words as simple as he could. "Please?"

"Sir, I repeat. Put the weapon down or I will be force to fire!"

Greg knew that threat would never be effective. The cop was not helping at all not especially when Greg was shielding Tom. He maybe small and shrivelled but Tom had a death grip that was inhuman.

Blood from Tom's cut palm had drenched his own shirt; the smell of iron was making him nauseous.

His first thoughts had been about his own gun. He recalled how excited he was to actually be holstering one, but now, he was afraid to use it. The worst-case scenarios continued to replay in his head. What if he grabbed the pistol but Tom was faster? Or if he took the gun if Tom knew it was there so close to him?

No he couldn't, he didn't dare.

Someone do something.

"Please… don't." The plea didn't come from his own lips- it was Sara's. For a moment that Greg was ready to just lose grip on his own sanity and do anything to release himself, even if it meant being killed, Sara's voice had brought him back to reality. He was so close to snapping.

It dug deeper.

The sharp edge of the glass had dug deeper into his skin. This time, it wasn't just an uncomfortable jab- it was pain. His throat ached from the pain.

"You not suppose to come to Tom's home." His whisper had dropped, it wasn't the voice of a confused man, it was the sound of a man ready to kill to protect his territory.

Sara.

_Help me_.

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A big thank you to **Stormchilde**, **Celsie**, **Nickel Geek, Unlikely-to-bear-it, Laney-D, shadowryder, **and **Liz **for the reviews.  
**TofuSaves**: Hope it makes sense to you by the end of the story, if not, I have failed as a writer. Thanks for the note :)

To everyone else, thanks for reading. If you would like to critiqué this piece (whether for the writingto theplot outline or otherwise), it is most welcomed.

Cheers -Jo / frickangel

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	3. Truly

**Title**: Maybe, Possibly- Truly

**Author**: frickangel

**Site**: trinity (dot) hybridshadows (dot) com

**Summary:** To be afraid of something yet find comfort in arms of the one you love.

**Spoilers:** Other than the fact that Greg becomes a full fledge CSI?

**A/N:** This is the last chapter. I know some have been saying that this story has been rather confusing and I apologise. I should've posted it as a one chapter fic. Hopefully, by the end of this chapter everyone would be able to understand. -Crosses fingers- I'm really, really praying it will make sense to you all as it did to me. ;)

**Disclaimer:** Don't own CSI and all its characters, whoever owns them, owns them. But it's not me- though I wish.

**Chapter III**

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Why was he so cold?

His skin felt clammy and ice like. She was almost afraid he was running a fever and in his condition that could be dangerous since th-.

Shut up, Sara! He is perfectly fine; a fever won't hurt him because he is…

She couldn't even finish the train of thought, she knew this was going to turn out all right but the darkness still threatened to blanket her and to drown her. "Are you ok?"

With his hands on his lap, he looked frighteningly stiff. "I don't know. Am I?"

"You will be." Her voice cracked, the sobs ready to envelop her once more. She had promised herself in the car that she wasn't going to cry. But she yearned to cry more than anything, to let loose her own emotional roller coaster.

No, not here and not in front of him.

"You don't sound very sure." He flashed a quick grin, but as quick as the smile had been it had disappeared only to lower his head and close his eyes.

Shifting her body as much as the seat would allow her, she faced Greg. Her own hands lifted his head back up and cupping his face gently. "I'm sure." She injected all her faith into those two words. Braving herself, she moved her left hand to his forehead and feeling the temperature. "You're cold." She let herself bath in a second of relief that he wasn't feverish. Hospitals were always too damned chilly.

Shaking his head slightly but not enough to loosen her soft touch to his face, Greg closed his eyes again. "I'm just scared."

She didn't know what to do or what to say. She came here hoping to comfort him and help him, but to her, it seems that it was the other way around.

Don't cry.

He removed her hand from his forehead, so lost in thought that she had forgotten about her hold on him. She felt his icy touch turn warm as he held on to her hand and not letting go. Goosebumps prickled her skin, but the last thing she wanted was for him to release her.

For a long time, they remained still and not moving. When she finally risked moving to a more comfortable position, she slowly leaned back against the chair and breathed easier. Shutting her eyes, she felt tired all of a sudden, sleep deprived and drained.

"Go to sleep."

"I'm not leaving you." She reminded him.

He fell silent again. "You don't have to."

"I know." With eyes wide shut, she rested her head upon his shoulder.

She would've fallen asleep. If only…

"Mr. Sanders?"

They jumped at the same time, the comfort running away like cowards. "Yes?" he replied, but Sara was sure that he knew what the reason was.

The nurse smiled sweetly and held out a manila envelope for him to take.

When he wouldn't move to accept it, she did. "Thank you." She muttered. Her fingers were trembling over the thin object. "Take it." Prying his hands open, she placed the envelope into his grasp; she had no right to know the outcome by herself.

He finally did and stopped there.

"Open it." she pushed on.

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"No!"

Her arm flew outstretched towards them as if she had some sort of force that could stop him. Only it seemed that she did.

The stranger's glass knife was already leaving red scratches on Greg's neck and it paused right below his ear now.

"No one will hurt you, just let him go and we'll leave you alone." Sara attempted to persuade him since Robins was doing a stellar job of frightening the mad instead of anything else.

"Yea old demons of the east! Be gone!" the glass hovered dangerously over Greg's throat again and then lay to rest against his cheek. "Angels in mah dream say to me many a thing. Them warn Tom 'bout attack."

Tom? Who was Tom? Maybe he was referring to himself. "We're not attacking, we just want him back." Sara took a quick look at Robins. The young officer was only as old as Greg was, probably just a few pounds more and just as afraid. Sara was more worried that he'd pull the trigger out of terror than of duty.

"You know… Tom," She swallowed hard when Greg spoke out to him, his own tone was heavily burdened, and he sounded out of breath. This Tom was choking him. "I'll just follow them… and… and… leave your home," Greg continued, rasping each word out. "… you can… go back to your-."

With a fast move, Tom tightened his elbow grip on Greg's neck and sneered at the CSI in his arms. "You one of 'em many demons!"

Sara gasped in horror, Robins stood frozen, and Greg released a desperate croak for air.

This couldn't be happening.

"Tom will serve angels and punish demon!"

The man was a monster with only religious perseverance to kill, the hot blood seeping from the wound and baptising the victim.

His hand up in the air, poised to strike fatally into Greg's life.

Sara had one hundredth of a second to decide.

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Had the world stopped?

It hadn't, it was he himself who had ceased all movements. Somewhere beyond, he could vaguely hear Sara's voice prodding him to continue.

A finger traced the envelope's flap, he realised he was actually trying to open it. The opening wasn't glued together like the usual mail, which was hard to peel apart. It was something he constantly got annoyed about.

In the envelope case was a single sheet of paper and on it printed the very fate of him.

It was time.

He lifted his eyes to the sheet and read the words.

_'Mr. Sanders, Greg.'_

He moved on to a few lines below.

_'Blood test.'_

Next word.

_'Results.'_

Wetting his lips, he felt Sara's looking at him eagerly, not at the paper but straight into his eyes.

_'Doctor in charge: Dr. De'Rosario.'_

_'Presence of __Human Immuno-deficiency__Virus:'_

_He read and it sank in, but couldn't believe it. _

_For first time in the last few months, Greg buried his face into his arms and cried._

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He heard the scream of pain that wasn't his. Then sweet oxygen filled his lungs as he fell to the cold hard ground.

Sara…

Lifting his head, Greg saw her holding her gun and the trigger already pulled. Behind him, he heard a grunt and running footsteps.

Should he run too? No, he didn't need to, Sara was there for him.

"Greg?" her voice shook as she called out his name.

"Hey." He answered, not getting up from the ground and he didn't want to, only Sara was helping him up before he could protest. "Where's… Tom?"

"He ran. Robins went after him."

Robins had to be the cop dude. "You shot Tom?"

"The paramedics are on their way."

He didn't ask her that. "Did you shoot Tom?" he repeated, for some weird reason, he was getting annoyed that she wasn't answering him.

"Oh my god, Greg, you're bleeding."

Was he? There was blood on him, but he didn't think it was his, "No, I think it's Tom's. He cut himself with the…" He cringed with pain and groaned. That had hurt, why was Sara hurting him?

"Greg, you have a cut. He… I mean Tom must have grazed you."

Her fingers danced lightly on the wound and pressed on it, he didn't feel anything before. Slowly, he lifted his own hand and felt the ache under his ear, the warm liquid dripped over his hands, mixing with Tom's. "You're hurting me."

"I'm trying to stop the bleeding."

He knew she was right. The brain was getting foggy and jumbled up.

"You shot Tom?" he asked again.

"Yes."

"Ok."

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What was it?

Her own heart skipped two or three beats. She slid down to the floor, on her knees, focusing on Greg. "Tell me." She whispered to him, bringing her face next to his, and praying for the best.

Greg remained buried in his arms and hid there.

He held up the white piece of paper at her to look at.

She never knew something so small and harmless could tell an entire future. "Just tell me," she refused to read, she wanted to know straight from him.

His body began to shake when she realised his was crying.

God, no.

It couldn't be…

Snatching the slip from his hands, Sara smoothened it out so that she could read it better and not misinterpret the readings.

And then she saw it. The answer they've been waiting for so long since the incident.

She collapsed to the floor and sat there, staring at it, making sure it was real and not an illusion- not something she saw out of desperation.

Folding and unfolding the paper, she made one more confirmation and crumpled it. It didn't matter anymore; they already had what they came for.

Crushing the sheet to as small as it could be, she threw her arms around Greg and cried with him.

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Robins couldn't catch up with the maniac and he slipped away.

It didn't matter much, Greg was safe, and that was the most important thing. Robins' partner finally showed up, she hoped he was going to be reprimanded for leaving them behind as he did.

Whatever.

Looking over to the ambulance, she could see Greg sitting on the stretcher and staring into space. "You okay?"

He blinked and that was it. No wisecrack- nothing.

"Greg?" she reached out to clasp his shoulder but here barely flinched. Something wasn't right. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's in shock, ma'am." The Asian paramedic stood next to her and wrapped a blanket around Greg's shoulders. "He did lose a lot of blood."

Sara traced the cut on his baby face with her eyes; temporary bandages were in place until they got to a hospital. "But some of it wasn't his blood." Greg's shirt was caked up in dried brown stains; it was going to be hell to clean that.

"Excuse me?" her badge read Tracy.

"The man that held him hostage had been bleeding all over him."

Tracy frowned, ruining her Chinese features slightly.

"What?"

"Did you guys catch him?"

Sara furrowed her brows before answering, "No… I don't think so." She shook her head to illustrate.

"Who was he?"

"Some homeless guy, probably a junkie who had-." Sara caught on quick to where the paramedic had been going. Why didn't she think about it sooner? "Oh no…"

"It's a small possibility, probably nothing," Tracy was already packing up the equipment, ready to hit the road as fast as possible. "He'll have to take the blood test, just to be sure."

"How long before we know?" this battle was far from over.

"We need to wait three months before the HIV virus becomes apparent in a patient. Until then, everyone just needs to sit tight."

"But…" Sara cleared her throat, trying to keep her voice steady and not burst into irrational tears. "I mean, HIV transmission through between open wounds from a carrier's blood and a none infected is pretty minimal."

"Yes it is," She didn't sound very confident of Sara's statement.

Sara knew the statistics; innocent victims are infected just through small cut, a break in the skin when an infected person's fluid, or in this case blood, to pass the virus. Her vision filled with Tom's blood on Greg, the struggle… his cut. "I'm coming along." She hopped onto the ambulance before Tracy could close the doors on them.

"Grissom."

Sara whirled her attention on Greg. She didn't know he was listening in. "Greg?"

"Someone." He blinked again. "Report…"

"Who's Grissom?" Tracy quizzed, trying to make Greg lie down. It didn't take too long for her to do that with Greg being in his catatonic state.

"Our supervisor…" Sara hung her head low to think. "He wants me to report to my supervisor. Someone needs to."

She had waited long enough for Sara to decide before asking again, "Are you still coming?"

Sara took the steps out of the ambulance, and her sight lingered on Greg. She wanted to stay with him to tell him it was going to be just fine and everything would work out. "I'll catch up later." She mumbled.

The vehicle revved up and Tracy slammed the doors shut. Somewhere near her, a mobile phone rang.

"Sidle…" she croaked into the phone.

.  
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.-----.  
.  
.

Has it ended?

He figured that it finally did. A single word that told him all.

_'Presence of __Human Immuno-deficiency__Virus: __**Negative**'_

The tears weren't of sadness or was it for joy- it was utter relief. The fear had ebbed away and the cold had been washed off. "Thank you." He whispered into her ear.

"For what?" she looked at him, her eyes red from crying with him.

"For being there for me even when I didn't know I needed it."

"You would've done the same for me."

The walk around the hospital grounds was therapeutic; he just didn't feel like sitting in a car and going home. He wanted to be out. "Would I?"

"You doubting me now?"

They stopped right on the pavement and faced each other. "Maybe I am." He shrugged and laughed.

He had hoped Sara would join the laughter, but she didn't, instead another tear rolled down her cheek. He took one of her hands into his as they shared the warmth he didn't have a few hours ago, his thumb found its way to her cheek as he brushed it off. "Don't cry."

"You laughed."

He only stared back at her.

"I haven't seen you laugh for a long time."

"Yeah, well I'm gonna be laughing a lot now."

"Good." She wrapped her other free hand around his. "One more thing."

"What is it?" Their foreheads met and he lowered his eyelids. Whatever it was she had wanted to say, Greg wouldn't care. He was happy where he was.

"It's raining."

"I know." He could feel the tiny drops falling on his back, dampening his shirt and drenching his hair dripping down the side of his face. It felt good.

There was no kiss between, not right then.

Pulling her closer, he hug her and she returned the embrace. Together they stood there, under the purity of the rain from above, cleansing them off any doubts and fears.

It was a new start.

A lease on life.

Today, he was truly free, truly blessed, truly amazed and… he was truly in love with her.

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.----**END**----  
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Thanks to **chrissy0**, **lins**, **Liz**, and **kegel **for the lovely reviews.  
**Celsie **&** Unlikely-to-bear-it**: I hope you aren't confused anymore ;)  
**WelcomeToTheJungle**: Thanks a lot for the compliment, it's an honour when someone notes to a writer that his/her intepretation of the canon players are in character. In a fandom as big as CSI is, it's sometimes hard to find writers who still focus on the original characters and not inject too much of what the writer wishes in the canons.  
**LocoGreggo**: Oh, don't get me wrong, I ama Sara/Greg fan, just that I'm not a person who writes a lot of fluff. I'm not a big fan of this fluff thing, can bearly stand the overwhelming romance in some stories, heck. I couldn't even stand the whole Padme/Anakin 'ship in Star Wars.

Thanks for reading.

Cheers  
-Jo


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